


And I Could Cry Power

by noxic



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Canon disabled characters with non-canon disabilities, Deaf Character, Deaf Edward Elric, Disabled Character, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-23 14:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxic/pseuds/noxic
Summary: While it was true that Alphonse was one of the most gifted alchemists of his generation—possibly of all time, to be quite honest—it was also true that his older brother was even more of a prodigy. Realistically, it would be best to get him on their side while they had the chance. But they didn’t have the chance anymore. They—the military—had given that chance up ten years ago. Roy doubted that that was the sort of decision that could be excepted upon.Would the military be willing to take another shot at the legendary Edward Elric?AU in which Edward and Alphonse are graduate students at Central University, each working on their own groundbreaking research. With war stirring up on the northern border, the military is looking for options, and it's Roy's job to grease the wheels.





	1. Your Mouth to the Clouds

Roy felt a wet drop hit the top of his head as he exited the car, and he grimaced. The lieutenant had barely been able to find a place to park on the university grounds, since it was such an old campus that much of the place was not built to accommodate motor vehicle traffic. Now, they were stuck all the way at the edge of campus, and they would have to walk up the long pathway through the grounds to reach the experimental alchemy department which sat in the very center of the school’s labyrinth of old buildings. Adding rain to the equation just seemed excessive.

Nevertheless, the two of them had a job to do. With a grumble and a pout, Roy popped up the collar of his trench coat and joined his subordinate—the ever-prepared Riza Hawkeye—under her nondescript black umbrella. “Let’s go, lieutenant.”

They hustled up the path, passing groups of students huddled together under awnings and umbrellas and staring out windows as the rain picked up its fervor. By the time they reached the alchemical science building, the light sprinkle from before had turned into a freak downpour. Roy was glad that today’s visit was purely diplomatic.

They entered the science building—one of the largest and oldest buildings at Central University—through what Roy knew was referred to as the “grand foyer.” It was so named for its design as a wide, open entryway outlined by seating areas where he could see students studying and sleeping and even playing card games. Directly across from the door to the outside was an enormous staircase that led about halfway up to the next floor before splitting into two equally grandiose parts which clung to each wall and wrapped around the foyer to form a sort of atrium. Directly above their heads was a balcony that overlooked the seating areas and the impressive architecture of this part of the building.

While the area was filled with light from the tall windows that lined the back wall and the numerous dim lamps that littered both the lower and upper levels, its deep green carpeting and mahogany furnishings gave the whole place the impression of a cozy, old-fashioned library. It was almost comforting to Roy, who had spent a good portion of his childhood amongst the dusty libraries of eastern Central.

As soon as the two officers entered the building, both dressed in their uniforms, they caught a good amount of attention from the students near the doorway. Roy didn’t avoid their eyes, simply smiled and nodded his greeting to anyone with whom he happened to make eye contact.

With the lieutenant close behind, he proceeded to the upstairs portion of the building. “And you’re sure he’ll be here, sir?” Hawkeye asked quietly as they moved away from most of the prying eyes and ears. Roy made an affirmative noise in his throat.

“I spoke to some of his colleagues on the phone, and this should be a good time to catch him in the graduate student lounge. For someone so smart, he really is a simple kid.”

The upstairs of the alchemy building was much more clinical than the grand foyer. Instead of fancy décor and cozy seating areas with flying buttresses and glittering windows, this area was more practical, with a simple, pale yellow paintjob and off-white tiles on the floor. The doors they passed were metal, like hospital doors, and most had small windows as well. As they approached the room number Roy had been given, he could see movement through the door’s window, including a flash of deep gold as someone passed by the entrance. Bingo.

When they came upon the room, he gave a short, curt knock before opening the door, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

The graduate student lounge for the alchemy department was small, presumably because there were not very many alchemical grad students, even in a prestigious place like Central. The room was roughly the size of two ordinary classrooms, with some simple windows on the far wall and blackboards on the left and right. To the right half of the room was a cluster of desks hidden from one another by privacy partitions (work cubicles, Roy thought) and to the far left was a small kitchenette consisting of an icebox, a sink, some cupboards, and the smallest stove Roy had ever seen. A little closer to the center of the room was a coffee table, around which sat three sofas and a handful of assorted chairs that looked like they had been assembled from various classrooms at various points in time.

There were people in the lounge as well. Roy could see some sitting at the desks to the right while one frazzled-looking young man boiled a water kettle in the kitchenette. The majority of the activity, though, was concentrated on the center of the room. A group of young people sat in a circle around the coffee table, some leaning forward from the couches and some standing over the scene to watch at an angle. Right in the center of all of them was a young man with striking golden hair drawing with chalk on the table despite the presence of chalkboards on the walls.

Roy watched the young man speak, explaining some aspect of alchemical theory that Roy hadn’t ever bothered to think about, matching his running monologue to what he was illustrating through vague gestures and hurried half-clarifications.

Whatever he was saying, Roy knew it had to be genius.

This boy was Alphonse Elric.

Roy stood in the doorway for several moments before realizing that his knock had probably gone unnoticed by anybody in the room, engrossed as they were in Alphonse’s speech or their own workings. Even when he and Hawkeye finally entered the room fully and shut the door behind them, all they earned was a couple of half-hearted glances.

“So, you see,” Alphonse said, glancing up and around at his colleagues. “I figure if we look at the energy transfer as a relationship between the human body’s natural electrical output and whatever force is responsible for systemic entropy, that explains how this part of the transmutation process mirrors the use of Xingese alkahestry.” He opened his mouth to say more, but when he looked up from the circle he caught sight of Roy and the energetic, delighted look melted off of his face.

“Uh, I’ve gotta go, guys,” he said lamely, moving to brush his workings off of the table. Several of the other students yelped, throwing their hands out to stop him.

“Just let us copy down this equation!” said one boy, pushing up his reading glasses. “You go ahead, we’ll clean it off.” Several confirmations of this floated around the circle and Alphonse gave his colleagues a kind, genuine smile as he excused himself from amongst them. The smile was gone when he looked back over at Roy, brushing by him to exit the lounge without a word.  _ Ouch _ .

“Colonel Mustang,” Alphonse said in greeting once they were outside. He spared a glance at Riza, who still maintained her place at Roy’s side, just a few inches behind him. “Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

“It’s good to see you, Alphonse,” Roy said amicably, already sure that it wouldn’t be well-received. “How have you been?” Alphonse didn’t roll his eyes per  _ se _ , but Roy could sense his irritation nonetheless.

“Very well, actually,” he responded. “My brother and I began writing our theses last year, and this semester we’re both working in the experimental department. Brother is actually teaching a course on some of the new alchemical theory that’s being introduced to the higher curriculum. Makes sense, since it was his research team that developed it.”

Roy nodded. “That’s quite impressive. I heard what you were saying in there, too.” He gestured in the direction of the lounge. “Though I admit I didn’t fully grasp most of what you were saying, it sounded brilliant.” Alphonse didn’t even give him an insincere smile.

“Thank you, but you should hear what brother is coming up with. It’s really revolutionary. I’m just seeking to explain things that already exist, but brother is coming up with new forms of alchemy all the time.”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s just as brilliant as you if the rumors are to be believed.”

“Probably more brilliant, to be honest. He’s a real genius.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“He is.”

Roy felt his own irritation bubbling to the surface, but it sat in his stomach with an equal degree of guilt. Now that they had reached an impasse, it was time to address the elephant in the room.

“Alphonse, I—”

“No.” Roy blinked, but Alphonse didn’t give him the chance to say anything before he barreled forward straight through Roy’s carefully constructed persuasion tactics. “I already know what you’re going to say to me, and the answer is  _ no _ .”

Roy took a breath. “You haven’t even heard my proposal yet.”

Alphonse’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into a line. “I don’t need to. You’re going to ask me to join the military, right?” Roy said nothing. “Probably going to sweeten the pot with the promise of great research opportunities and travel compensation and the chance to ‘serve my country’ or whatever?” Alphonse scoffed. “I’m not interested.”

Roy frowned, giving into the mood that Alphonse was building around them and shoving one hand into his pocket while the other ran through his hair in exasperation. “Alphonse, please just listen to me. I know you and your brother don’t particularly like me or the military, but the mutual benefit for—”

Alphonse cut him off with a sputter. “Mutual benefits?” he choked out. His tone was incredulous, and Roy wondered if he’d missed something. “If the military wanted  _ any _ benefits from my family, then they should have taken the brother who offered himself up on a silver platter  _ ten years ago _ .” The young man crossed his arms. “I don’t need anything from the military. Not now and not ever.”

He started to turn back in the direction of the student lounge. Roy’s eyebrows pinched together. “Alphonse Elric,” he barked out in what was probably a shockingly informal tone. It had its intended effect, though, and Alphonse turned around, eyes narrowed and dangerous. “I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t important,” Roy tried just a little softer this time. “The world is heading to a dangerous place, kid, and right now the government is looking for any upper hand they can get. Some of the military staff are even talking about war at the northern border. If you can help us while also reaping the benefits of the restricted military libraries in Central proper, don’t you think it’s your duty as a citizen of this country to at least consider it?” Roy looked right into Alphonse’s bright gold eyes as he spoke, voice loaded with emotion.

The boy was quiet for several long moments, and even though Roy watched his eyes the whole time, never moving away, he could see nothing inside them. His expression remained neutral as he searched Roy’s eyes for—something. And then he sighed, shook his head, and turned back to the door to the student lounge. “If it’s really that dire, then maybe you should look into my brother’s research. He’s working on a new energy source that I’m sure he’d love to explain to you.”

His tone left no room for arguments, but Roy tried anyway. “Alphonse…” The door slammed shut in his face, and he winced. Roy glanced back at Hawkeye, who had remained quiet through the whole conversation. Her eyes were hard, but the lines of her face were twisted into a different sort of pattern.

“What are you thinking about, lieutenant?” he asked her. She said nothing for a moment, then replied, “Just strategizing, sir.”

One of the things that Roy found fascinating about Riza Hawkeye was her ability to say so much in so few words. There was a novel in that statement—one that he didn’t particularly care to unpack until they were safely back inside her car. “I see,” he said simply.

Roy cast one last look at the door that Alphonse had disappeared behind. He could hear the light hum of casual conversation from the other side and wondered if his presence here today would even make a tangible difference in Alphonse Elric’s life, or if he would just become a footnote in the brothers’ autobiographies after they had both gone on to become famous and renowned. He supposed it was up to him and the choices he would make over the next several days.

As they walked back to the lot where the car was parked, Roy thought about his options. He could either continue to harass Alphonse Elric until something gave way, which wasn’t likely to produce positive results if today was any indication. He could also simply retreat to his office at the Central Command Center and ride out his time as a colonel until he’d just put in enough time to be promoted by default. That sounded easy enough—but when did Roy ever do what was easy?

There was certainly a third option—giving up on Alphonse and stealing his research to be used by the state alchemists currently under contract—and even a fourth if you looked at it the right way—giving up on Alphonse and hunting down  _ another _ improbable genius. But what really weighed down on his mind was the fifth option; it was one he hadn’t even bothered to consider before because history tends to repeat itself, and they’d gone down this road before with unsavory results.

While it was true that Alphonse was one of the most gifted alchemists of his generation—possibly of all time, to be quite honest—it was also true that his older brother was even more of a prodigy. Realistically, it would be best to get him on their side while they had the chance. But they didn’t have the chance anymore. They—the military—had given that chance up ten years ago. Roy doubted that that was the sort of decision that could be excepted upon.

Would the military be willing to take another shot at the legendary Edward Elric?   _ Would Roy? _

He contemplated this while the lieutenant ferried them back to the office, not offering any information to expand on her thoughts of strategy. And as they entered the building, Roy took a glance upward, feeling and hearing a strange sort of familiar calm wash over the surrounding area. The cool air was still, and thin streams of light began to break through the overcast sky. It was no longer raining.

Roy caught one last lungful of the moist air before the door to the building shut behind him, leaving him surrounded by the artificial light and noise of military HQ. The taste of rain lingered on his tongue. Eyebrows furrowed, he made his way quickly to his office, a new determination in his stride that the lieutenant clearly noticed but did not comment on.

They had work to do.


	2. All that I want to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the golden boy.

Late in the evening, after all classes had ended and Edward was free from his office hours, he found himself in an empty classroom with a west-facing window, covered in chalk dust and staring at a blackboard filled edge to edge with symbols and numbers strung together in a language it had taken him years to fully understand. The white scratches were like a roadmap to something important that he couldn’t quite grasp yet, but he could taste it on the tip of his tongue just as easily as he could feel the stray chalk on his fingertips and floating through the air. God, sometimes he really hated alchemy. It was one thing when it was something he knew how to do—he loved the feeling of energy flowing through his body, connecting him to the physical world and the other beings in it. He loved having the power to change things about the world at will using nothing but energy and the sheer force of his knowledge. He _loved_ practicing alchemy.

This was different, though. This was theoretical business, all advanced mathematics up on chalkboards and filling up page after page with equations and paragraphs of explanation to try and make something out of nothing. It was fulfilling when you got it right, but every moment leading up to that was like pulling teeth with rusted pliers.

Edward scowled at the board, trying to figure out where in the dozens of lines he’d managed to make a mistake. It was a frustrating thing to know that something was wrong but not be able to identify what it was. And at a certain point, trying to identify it became pointless because after staring at the same garbage for an hour, it all started to look the same.

Edward was about to call it a night and erase the board when he felt a thud reverberate through the ground and up into the desk he was sitting on. He looked back towards the door and saw Alphonse there with a wry smile on his face. Edward waved him inside and Alphonse joined him in staring at the board in silence. There were a few beats as Alphonse examined the work, and then he got up, wordlessly, and erased one of the variables about halfway through the problem, replacing it with a bracketed phrase that appeared earlier in the equation. Edward frowned, reading through the problem again. He scowled when he got to the end, unsure if he should be happy that his little brother had solved the problem at last, or angry and annoyed that it had taken him so little time.

Alphonse laughed at the look on his brother’s face, and Edward could see his shoulders shake with it.

“Sorry, brother,” Alphonse signed. “I think maybe you just needed fresh eyes on it. How long have you been in here?”

Edward gave a lazy shrug, lifting his hands to sign back. “Couple hours. I don’t know.” Alphonse rolled his eyes, then moved to erase the board. They didn’t need to write it down. Edward would remember.

“Ready for dinner?” Alphonse signed once he was done, brushing chalk dust off his hands. “Thanks for waiting for me, by the way.”

Edward nodded, gathering up his bookbag and coat from where he’d left them strewn across one of the many desks around the classroom. The shutters on the windows were open, washing the room with bright, deep orange light as the sun began to set over the tops of the trees. While Al made for the door, Edward went over to the windows and pulled on the cords to slide the shutters closed. The room fell into a cozy darkness, and the brothers slipped out into the half-lit hallway.

As they walked towards their small apartment, they chatted idly back and forth about the mundane goings-on they both endured while living on the university campus. Edward was _not_ a huge fan of being surrounded by people at all times, especially when he was trying to work. Alphonse, on the other hand, had only grown into even more of an extrovert since their arrival at the school. The one thing they could agree on, at least, was that there wasn’t enough time in the day for them to spend time together.

Their apartment building consisted of four floors of graduate student housing stacked on top of a small commercial center, which included a gift shop for university memorabilia, a convenience store where most of the grad students went to buy snacks and bottles of cheap wine, and a little café that accepted student meal accounts for sandwiches and hot boxed dinners. They stopped at briefly at the café before continuing up to their second-floor apartment, where Edward fumbled for his keys while Alphonse stood by, eyes rolled practically up into his head. Once the door was open, he shot his little brother a rude gesture, then saw his shoulders shake with poorly hidden giggles.

Their home was modest, a little two room thing with a corner kitchen to the left right when you walked inside, a dining table to the right, and a small living area with a couch dead ahead. On the back wall, there was a sliding glass door with a small balcony overlooking the breezeway. There was enough room to stand on the little slab of concrete, but not enough room for chairs. One of the neighbors had told Edward that it was mostly meant for smoking to avoid damage to the inside of the apartments.

Alphonse set their boxed food down in the kitchen while Edward pulled out utensils, plates, and bottles of beer. It wasn’t Alphonse’s favorite beverage, but his younger brother had a tension in his shoulders and the lines of his body that gave Edward the distinct impression that he could use it today. Alphonse just gave him an appreciative smile when he handed the bottle over.

“Cheers,” Al signed as they sat down at the table together. Ed nodded his agreement and they clinked their bottles together before tucking into the meal. They hadn’t been sat down for more than a few minutes when the tension in Al’s aura became almost tangible. Whatever was bothering him was digging deeper and deeper into his consciousness, and it was obvious that he wanted to say something about it.

Edward knocked on the table. “What’s wrong?” he signed, slurping fried noodles into his mouth and getting sauce on his chin. “You seem upset.”

Alphonse’s nose scrunched up and his eyebrows drew together. Yup, definitely irritated.

“The colonel came to visit me today,” he signed. Edward frowned.

“The bastard?” Al nodded. “What the hell did he want?”

“Me. My research.” Edward’s mouth dropped open, scandalized.

“The fuck?” he signed. “Did you give it to him?”

Alphonse gave him a look and threw a pea in the direction of his plate. “Of course not. You know I wouldn’t do that, especially not without talking to you first.” Edward pushed the pea away from his food and flicked back in Alphonse’s direction. “He tried to tell me that it was my ‘duty as a citizen’ to serve my country or whatever, and I told him exactly where he can stick his military propaganda.” Edward barked a laugh. He was sure it was an interesting sound, since he was physically incapable of making any vocal noise. He wouldn’t know, but he figured it probably sounded like a broken kazoo or a party noisemaker.

“Did he offer you money?” he ventured to ask, mood slightly improved. “Anything sweet?”

Alphonse rolled his eyes, shoveling vegetables into his mouth with reckless abandon. It was nice to see that he and his brother had things in common sometimes. “He basically all but offered me a full-fledged state alchemist position. Travel comp, library access, all of that. Only catch was that I might have to fight Drachma if we go to war, which is apparently looking more and more likely as the days go by, which is the only reason he came here in the first place. Well, that and it’s been a while since he had a promotion I imagine.” He stabbed a fork deep into a piece of broccoli. Edward could feel the metal of the fork hitting the ceramic plate through the table. It almost made him wince.

“You’re really messed up about this, huh?” Edward asked. He took a sip of his beer and watched his brother do the same before answering.

“I mean, kind of? It’s just not right. They turned you down for no good reason, and now they think they can come back for the next best thing and just _have_ it? Screw that. I’m not just going to be at their beck and call. They’re ableist pricks and not worth my time.” He gulped down several more swigs of his beer and set the bottle roughly on the table.

Edward wasn’t sure if he should be concerned. On the one hand, he’d seen Al angry before and this wasn’t too terrible compared to how it could be. On the other hand, he was seeing more and more of himself in his baby brother’s face and language than he was used to, and it was a little unnerving.

“You know,” he signed. “It’s not that big a deal, really. I mean, it’s not like they can force you to do anything unless they start a draft and have you conscripted. And with your physical disability, I’m pretty sure you qualify for exemption anyway. Mustang knows he can’t touch you.” Alphonse quirked a smile at that statement. Mustang’s name-sign was a cross between the sign for ‘bastard’ and the sign for ‘horse,’ and it looked comical.

“Yeah,” he signed in response. “I know I shouldn’t get so messed up about it, but it just makes me mad. You practically threw yourself at them with all the skill and intelligence of an advanced flame alchemist and they wouldn’t even consider it. It’s bullshit. I guess I’m just bitter.” He brushed a hand through his hair and leaned forward to rest on the table. “Plus the professor I TA for is being really unreasonable and trying to refuse me my time off. You know, the time off I need so I can go in for my stay at the _hospital_.” He rolled his eyes. “I’d love to see how firmly he sticks to that decision when I take the matter up with the center for disabled students and faculty.”

Edward sympathized. There were a lot of professors and other faculty members on campus who liked to run their students through the mill with no consideration for their health, and very rarely did one of those types make exceptions for their disabled students. It was especially bad in the masters and doctoral programs. Edward was grateful for the existence of the center for disabled students nearly every day. They were the first line of defense for students like Edward, who needed accommodations in his everyday routine and for students like Alphonse, who sometimes needed special consideration for their conditions when it came to deadlines and participation.

Looking at Alphonse, Edward didn’t think it was obvious that he dealt with his share of issues. He had brittle bones and a weak immune system which caused his frail body to suffer illnesses frequently and badly. He tried his utmost to avoid being sick or injured, but sometimes things just happened. It was for that reason that he made frequent trips to the hospital for research and preventative care that sometimes cut into his class time. Unfortunately, the professor for whose class he worked as a TA was not so appreciative of the situation. He’d tried to enforce his garbage “three absence” policy on him to have his pay docked, but that had ended when Alphonse showed up to his office walking with a cane and with a letter from the disability center in hand ordering the professor to make an exception.

Edward had dealt with a similar situation at the start of the school term when one of his seminar instructors had refused to have an interpreter in the room, then gotten mad and tried to penalize him for his sub-par contribution to discussion. That lasted for all of two days before he, too, showed up with a letter in hand telling her to get her shit together.

“Want me to kick his ass?” Edward signed. “I totally will.” Alphonse laughed, shaking his head.

“No, thanks though,” he signed. “I might do it myself if this goes on any longer.”

With that, they managed to steer their conversation into lighter territory until they had finished their dinner and started their individual nightly routines. Alphonse washed their dishes while Edward cleaned off the table and counters, then they each retreated to their rooms to read and work on their personal projects. A while later, Alphonse came into Edward’s room, flicking the light off and on again to get his attention and announce that the shower was open.

As Edward took his shower, letting the water soak deep into his long locks of blond hair, he thought about what Alphonse had said earlier about the colonel. It was shocking to hear that the bastard had been on campus just a few hours ago and Ed hadn’t known anything about it. It was even more shocking to hear that it was because he was scouting the younger Elric brother. Shocking and infuriating.

He hadn’t wanted to explode on Alphonse earlier, but now that he was alone with nothing but his thoughts and the stream of hot water, he felt his hands begin to shake. He remembered his first encounter with Colonel Mustang. _I want to be a State Alchemist!_ he’d said, his voice still squeaky with puberty. Back then, he still walked a little wobbly on his automail leg, and the sight of his metal hand still gave him vertigo. He’d ignored it, though, and walked right into Mustang’s office with his one specific demand. Of course, Mustang’s answer was no. Honestly, Ed didn’t blame him. He was just a hotheaded little kid.

No, that wasn’t what kept him up at night. The really bad encounter had been years after that, shortly after Edward’s 18th birthday. He walked up straighter on his automail and had Alphonse in the flesh and blood walking behind him, but in addition to his lost arm and leg, he’d also lost all ability to hear and speak. The truth had taken that, too.

So the encounter was different. Alphonse interpreted for him as he reintroduced himself and made his demand again, this time equipped with years of research and a carefully constructed treatise in hand on the science of flame alchemy—the Colonel’s very own specialty.

The older man’s eyes had widened comically, his frown becoming more and more pronounced as he thumbed through Edward’s research. Then he looked up from it, locked eyes with Edward as the young man smirked, and his face contorted into a variety of complex and interesting expressions. Edward couldn’t pin down exactly how the man was feeling until he said, with an obvious reluctance, that he couldn’t accept his application.

Edward had been incensed. _Why not?_ He wanted to know. _I’m more than capable, and I’m of legal age!_

The colonel had cast his eyes downward, no longer willing to look Edward in the eye. _The military does not allow the profoundly deaf to serve in any capacity_.

Even without his hearing, Edward had felt the silence that rang out through the office, even crowded as it was with the various members of Mustang’s team. Alphonse, still a sweet and uncertain thing, had cast nervous glances between Ed and Mustang like he was waiting for a bomb to go off. And go off it did indeed; Edward couldn’t scream, but he could sign with a ferocity that gave him the distinct impression of something wild. Alphonse couldn’t interpret quickly enough, or with enough modesty, and eventually he gave up trying and switched gears to physically leading his older brother out of the office.

When they arrived at their hotel that night, Edward was still fuming for hours. In retrospect, he felt a little bad about putting Alphonse through the experience, but that had been the night that they’d agreed on the decision to study in Central and use their gifts for something other than military advancement. They didn’t need those bastards in blue—they could make their own way. They _would_ make their own way.

Now, with his skin heating up to dangerous levels under the shower’s spray, Edward could feel the click of his automail’s plates knocking together has he trembled, jaw clenched. He reached out for the bottle of shampoo and felt the plastic crumple in his flesh hand as he squeezed it.

They didn’t need anything from the military.

Not now, and not ever.


	3. Rite of Movement

Roy stared down at the book on his desk, hoping he didn’t look as seriously troubled as he was. Amestrian Sign Language was not a stationary language, nor was it ever intended as a two-dimensional one. Trying to read the pictures printed in the book and understand how to execute the motions was downright impossible. For a few of the basic shapes, he could put his hand into the right form, but what was he supposed to do then? He really needed to sign up for a class or something. He was getting nowhere.

He closed the book, sliding it to the edge of his desk and returning to the paper work he had been occupied with before getting distracted. There were a combination of requisition forms and incident reports that needed his seal of approval, and then he had his own reports to write. God, being an officer was so _boring_. He almost wished he was an enlisted man again. You got pushed around a lot as a corporal, and you had a lot less freedom, but at least you got to move around during the day. They did so much mandatory PT and ran errands that filled their time easily. Of course, Roy thought glumly, the pay wasn’t nearly as good, and the barracks were horrendous.

Suddenly, two sharp knocks sounded on his closed office door, and he sighed. This was either going to be a relief from the tedium or something really annoying. “Come in,” he called, sitting back in his chair. The young man who entered his office had the mark of a sergeant on his uniform, and he clicked his heels together sharply as he saluted with a gruff “Sir!” Roy fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“At ease,” he said lazily. “Can I help you with something?” The sergeant’s rigid demeanor did not relax, but he dropped his salute.

“Sir, General Raven has just returned from his inspection of the Western Command Center and requests a meeting with you at your earliest convenience.” He reached into one of his coat pockets and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. Sure enough, it was an invitation in General Raven’s chicken scratch, probably written while in a moving car on his way to HQ. Roy’s lips tightened.

“Alright then,” he said, folding the paper back into quarters. “Thank you, sergeant. You’re free to go.” The young man saluted again, turned on his heel, and swept out of the room with his shoulders squared. Roy did roll his eyes this time. Maybe being enlisted wasn’t worth it, actually. Not if he would have to answer to men like that again.

Roy shuffled the papers on his desk into a stack, setting a paperweight on top of them before making his way to the senior staff offices. It took some walking, since they were several halls over and up two flights of stairs, but before long he found himself knocking on the general’s door and entering quietly when prompted by Raven’s booming voice from the other side. He saluted the older man and, with dismay, realized that he’d instinctively clicked his heels together. _Old habits die hard, I guess_ , he thought.

General Raven was an old man, even older than Fuhrer Bradley himself. He had been in the game longer than Roy had been alive, and if not for his laugh lines and easy-going body language, Roy would have been intimidated out of his boots. As it was, he knew not to expect any mind-games from Raven. The old man knew that Roy was low on his list of priorities, and he didn’t need to scare the colonel into doing what he wanted. There was a loyalty there beyond just the formal pipeline of the military’s hierarchy of respect. General Raven was from Eastern Command. He was a good friend of General Grumman, who was a _personal_ friend to Roy and his team. They didn’t need to say it out loud for it to be obvious that Roy was at General Raven’s disposal.

“Ah, Colonel Mustang!” Raven said when he entered the office. “At ease, my boy! Please sit down. I would like to discuss something with you very briefly. Would you like any tea?” Roy declined, taking a seat on one of the sofas in front of the stately desk. Someone had set up a platter of tea biscuits and a full kettle on a metal tray along with cups and dishes of cream and sugar. It seemed very formal for a ‘brief’ meeting.

General Raven sat down across from Roy and took his time fixing himself a cup of tea while Roy watched on, trying to read something—anything—in the man’s expression. There was nothing.

“So,” Raven said at last, spoon still clinking against his teacup. “I hear you’ve been scouting a new State Alchemist?” He set the spoon down and took a sip from the cup, holding the dainty saucer in his other hand. Roy’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir,” he said cautiously. “I’m not sure how it will turn out, but I have begun some preliminary research on an alchemical student at Central U. I haven’t quite convinced him yet, but I get the feeling that it will happen soon.”

General Raven’s lips peeled back into a mischievous grin. “How wonderful. It’s always good to see the young people being proactive in their careers.” Roy resented that just a tad. “And your target…well, I hear you’re after something shiny this time, Mustang. Something… _golden_?” He looked up at Roy from under his dark eyelashes, sipping at his tea noisily against the backdrop of the quiet room. Mustang felt his lips tighten just a little.

“I assume you’re referring to Alphonse Elric, yes?” he asked, keeping his voice level. Raven set the cup down on its saucer.

“Ah yes, the young Mister Elric. Tell me, Mustang,” he set his tea down on the table and crossed his legs, leaning back into the sofa. Roy didn’t miss the way it made his chest puff out. “Do you think you’ll be able to catch this one? Or is it likely that _he_ will slip off the hook as well?”

It was only years of careful practice that kept Roy from scowling. His respect for General Raven persisted, but his personal dislike for the old man was growing. “I’m afraid at this point, I can’t be certain, sir,” he said truthfully (if a little reluctantly). “Patriotism isn’t as strong of a bargaining chip as it used to be. Kids these days need a little more convincing.” The general laughed, deep and full with genuine mirth.

“Well, Mustang, that’s certainly insidious of you. No, no, I like it. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors. I just wanted to meet with you as a sort of informal check-up. We talk about you a lot up in the higher offices, you know.” Roy could see the wicked glint in his eye. “Everybody is so interested to see whether you will advance to senior rank anytime soon. You’ve got us all on the edge of our seats.”

Mustang fought the frown that was edging onto his lips. The old man was taunting him!

It was no secret in the upper echelons of the Amestrian military that Roy Mustang was a bit of an upstart, especially in the years following the Ishvalan Civil War. There were eyes on him at all times, and they knew that he knew it. “Well, I sincerely hope I don’t disappoint, General,” he said diplomatically. “Breaking into the senior ranks is definitely on my to-do list. And who knows? Maybe my current project will get me there sooner than expected.” He smiled, and Raven tilted his head to the side in response.

“That certainly would be impressive, Mustang. I wish you the best of luck.” He picked up his tea again and lifted it up to his lips. “That was really all I needed from you, I’ll let you get back to your _project_.”

Roy stood, saluted, and turned on his heel to leave. He fought the urge to slam the door behind him and waited until he was back in the hallway where his office was located to let his expression turn sour. He really would do anything for General Raven as a courtesy to Grumman, but the man really could be a bastard.

When he returned to his office, he shut the door just a little more forcefully than was necessary. His team still noticed, all of them looking up from their desks with surprise on their faces.

“You good, Colonel?” Havoc asked, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. Roy said nothing, just gave a noncommittal noise and slumped over his desk to get back to work. The rest of his team glanced around the room at each other with an unspoken question in their eyes. When it was obvious that they would get nothing further out of him, they simply went back to work.

With his subordinates’ eyes on their own work, Roy found his gaze drifting over to the book on his desk that he’d put down in frustration earlier. He looked between it and the stack of papers he still had to go through. He blinked. He picked up the book.

He was discreetly practicing the letters of the alphabet behind the cover of the book when a voice popped up from across the room, “Hey, sir, are you learning the manual alphabet?” Roy looked up. It was Fuery looking back at him, blinking owlishly behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

“Yes,” Roy said, wondering why Fuery seemed so interested. “I’m working on a project that requires some very specific communication skills. Are you familiar with it?” Fuery nodded.

“My oldest sister is deaf,” he explained. “We grew up with it.”

“So would you say you’re fluent?”

“Yes sir, or close enough to it.”

Roy placed a hand on his chin pensively. “It would be valuable to have a practice partner. Do you think you could show me how to execute some of these movements?” He opened the book to a page on common phrases as Fuery walked over to his desk, pulling a chair behind him.

They spent the better part of the hour working on his hand shapes and movements until Fuery was satisfied that he could introduce himself properly at least. Roy liked to think he remembered a good deal more than that, but he supposed his young subordinate was the expert in this case. They had just wrapped up their session and were discussing future practice when the clock struck half-twelve, signaling that it was time for the office to head out to lunch.

“You spent a lot of time learning those signs, sir,” Riza said as they walked down to the mess. “It seems like you’re making some real strides.”

Roy waved her off. “They’re just gestures, honestly. I think Fuery made a bigger deal out of it than was really necessary.”

Riza was quiet for a moment, looking dead ahead. “I don’t think so, sir. I think it’s very big deal.”

Roy blinked, eyes trailing over her stiff shoulders and her carefully blank expression. “…Of course. My apologies.”

“No apology necessary, sir.”

She was doing it again. She said so little, and yet he could feel the volume of what was left unsaid taking up space in the room and making him claustrophobic. “What do you think about this situation? With the Elric brothers, I mean,” he asked. She hadn’t said anything about it since their excursion to Central U.

Riza looked up at him from under her bangs. Her eyes were hard and focused, and he fought the urge to stiffen in response. “The Elric brothers, sir?” He blinked, eyebrows pinching together.

“Edward and Alphonse Elric,” he confirmed.

“I thought we were only recruiting Alphonse, sir.”

Roy paused. Hawkeye turned her gaze forward, breaking eye contact. Her voice dropped to a low murmur. “Has the plan changed, sir?”

She hadn’t told him any of her thoughts regarding this “project,” but he supposed he hadn’t either. He’d expected her to read him like a book written in a script only she understood. She knew his ambitions, his past, and the deepest parts of himself that had only otherwise been divulged to Maes, who had been Roy’s best friend for years, and Madame Christmas, who had raised him. She was as “inner” as his inner circle got. He didn’t usually need to explain his intentions except where his strategies were concerned.

“Officially no,” he said in a low voice. “But we should wait to discuss that until we can be sure we’re alone.” He frowned. She should know that.

Suddenly, the lieutenant stopped walking, letting Roy get just a few steps ahead before looking back at her. Her eyebrows were turned down and her shoulders squared. Roy blinked. “I understand, sir,” she said after a beat. “I just wanted to make sure we both understood your position on the matter.” He watched her face for any movement at all, but all he saw was the tightness in her lips and the tension in her forehead. She was such a severe woman when she wanted to be.

“My position, lieutenant?” Roy said.

“Regarding the brothers, sir,” she replied. “Edward _and_ Alphonse Elric.”

Oh. She was talking about Edward. “You want to confirm my intentions.” She said nothing, but the silence spoke for her. Roy sighed. “Of course, I’m sorry. I should have been more direct. I can give you the details later but let me be clear: I see a lot of promise in the Elric brothers. I think they could be very useful to the military. To our country.” His eyes narrowed, and the lieutenant allowed him a pregnant pause and a moment of eye contact before turning back to the hallway before them and walking forward.

“Understood, Colonel.”

She walked past him and he frowned, turning to follow her. He really needed to get her alone so that they could speak freely. Riza seemed to enjoy turning his head with her subtle interrogations and not-quite-accusations.

In the meantime, they sat together in the mess hall, quietly conversing about nothing at all. Under the table, Roy practiced the shape of his own name with one hand.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're feeling skeptical about my premise, I recommend this TED Talk.
> 
> https://www.ted.com/talks/keith_nolan_deaf_in_the_military?language=en&fbclid=IwAR3kwjC45NzNXDlBm5dXUhYVbGQFOZAsbGepMOkV-ki0qyFx-f-plBnOx48


End file.
